


Baby The Times Are Tepid

by katabasis (aphorat)



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Drabble Collection, First Time, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorat/pseuds/katabasis
Summary: An assortment of drabbles featuring Sakurai and Imai. Ratings vary by chapter, but take note of the overall rating before you read.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in mid-'88, after the recording at the Nissin Power Station because, idk, I just felt the need to date it somehow.

Hisashi doesn't open his eyes right away when he wakes up one morning after a live recording, trying in vain to catch five, maybe ten more minutes of sleep. His head is pounding, and the feel of sunlight against his eyelids is too-bright, an unwelcome sensation even as it warms his skin. He rouses slowly, tongue dry as it runs across the roof of his mouth, and eventually he notices something else: a dull ache between his legs and the tense pull of overwrought muscles when he shifts against the mattress.   
  
That gives him pause, and when he pushes himself up onto his elbows he doesn't expect to see Atsushi there beside him, bleached hair messy as it falls across his eyes. He's still asleep, curved on his side with an arm tucked beneath his pillow, and Hisashi sits up at once; a sudden jerking motion that might've woken the other man, but only makes him shift slightly, turning away from the sudden movement without so much as a murmur.   
  
Hisashi slides out of bed then and staggers to his feet, staring down at the sleeping vocalist like he's a figment of his overactive imagination. A quick glance at the trash can by his feet—the wrapper had missed its target, scattered in two pieces on the floor, but the used condom itself is there, fortunately—confirms that he isn't still dreaming though, and he thinks on it as he dresses, then quietly retreats for his own room.   
  
(He pauses at the bedside, staring pensively at the vocalist's long half-covered limbs and full lips, and at the way his dark lashes brush against his cheeks, and he finds it difficult to tear himself away. When he does leave, in last night's rumpled clothing, it's with the picture of him there amid the sheets, and it's an image that stays burned behind his eyelids for some time.)  
  
He steps into the shower in his own hotel room and rinses away dried sweat, smudged makeup. He remembers less than he would have liked, but perhaps it's for the best. Later, when they're reviewing footage during a meeting with Tokyo FM, he catches Atsushi staring in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Or maybe this time he  _is_  imagining things, and so he ducks his head down without meeting the other man's gaze, headache subsiding slowly as they pass long hours beneath harsh fluorescent lights.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imai smudges his makeup, and Sakurai lends a hand.

Sometimes, it's the little things that give him pause, make him wonder if they have something worth pursuing in full. He's sure Atsushi doesn't mean anything by it; that he's being friendly, nothing more. Later, he'll realize he couldn't have been more wrong, but now—  
  
Their set is starting soon but Atsushi lingers in the dressing room, smile spreading wide as he makes his way over to Hisashi. "Ah, look," he says in a light, playful tone as he cranes over the seated guitarist, "you've smudged our initials." Hisashi glances at his reflection in the mirror, lips pursing when he sees the way his  _B_  is warped and half-erased. "Here, stay still," the other man continues, stepping around to face him and taking his chin in hand, gentle but firm. He licks his thumb, dabs at the eyeliner before wiping it away with a tissue, and Hisashi's brow wrinkles at that, outwardly perturbed.   
  
"I'll take care of it—" he starts, but Atsushi just makes a tutting sound in the back of his throat and grasps him more securely, taking the eyeliner pen between his fingers and rewriting the letters with a deft hand that stills Hisashi where he sits. The felt tip tickles at his cheek and Atsushi is so  _close_ , holding him fast and staring at him with no small amount of focus.   
  
"There, I knew you could cooperate" he murmurs eventually, pulling back with a flourish and holding a hand out to frame the other man's face. "Does it meet your approval?" The letters curl across his cheek whimsically, so different from his own sharp strokes but suitable all the same. "Should I retire from music and become a hotshot makeup artist?"   
  
They're interrupted then by their tour manager, who calls them to the stage—but as they make their way to the hallway, Hisashi turns to nudge at Atsushi's side, response barely audible over the din of the audience. "After the fuss you made about becoming our singer? You'd better not."   
  
Atsushi smirks as he follows the other man out onto the stage, and if the crowd before them notices something different about the writing on Hisashi's cheek, no one thinks to make note of it. The singer traces the length of his jaw that night while he sings, and Hisashi's grip on the neck of his guitar is so tight a string might snap. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the '89 hiatus, Imai has a chance to appreciate Sakurai's new hairstyle.

Long black hair cascades onto the swirling red and gold of Hisashi's coverlet, and Atsushi hears him draw an audible breath as he hovers overhead, stock-still and staring. Atsushi hasn't had hair this thoroughly dark since their school days, and it suits him, suits their steadily evolving image. It's been a while since they've been together, with Hisashi on leave after his arrest and Atsushi idling away in his home, unable to focus on music without him.   
  
After their hiatus ends he pays Hisashi a visit, dressed in black with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, as well as the few fragments of lyrics he's managed during their time apart. Hisashi stares for a moment when he opens the door, eyes raking him head to toe—and Atsushi eases inside with a smile and winks as he sets the bottle down on a nearby end table. But when it becomes clear that Hisashi wants to apologize further, Atsushi only shakes his head, drawing him close in the entryway and pressing lips beneath his ear. It's familiar, comforting, and Hisashi leans into the touch before urging them to his bedroom.   
  
"Hisashi," Atsushi breathes when it becomes clear that he's still caught in a daze above him, one hand skimming the small of his back. He pushes himself up onto his shoulders, arching a quizzical eyebrow as he tries to meet his gaze. "What—"  
  
"Shit," Hisashi mumbles then, clambering on top of him with whipcord limbs and reaching down to position Atsushi's cock. " _Shit_ , look at you."   
  
His fingers bury and twist in Atsushi's hair as he sinks down onto him, moans pouring forth from his lips. Hisashi's never considered himself a good singer, but this is music to Atsushi's ears, and he draws each broken sound out of him like water wrung from wet cloth. Atsushi leans in to kiss him then, swallowing his noises behind the curtain of his hair. He'll sing them back to Hisashi later, in the vocal booth of their recording studio, eyes locked on him all the while. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sloppy drunken first times!

"I've," Atsushi breathes as they rid themselves of their clothing, fingers clumsy as they work shirts over their heads and pants down their hips. "You know," he continues conversationally, as if he's sober and discussing the weather instead of drunk and discussing anal sex, “I've never done this before."   
  
He's thought about it though, both in private and when he has Hisashi spread out before him, shuddering and gasping for breath—so when the other man had rounded on him in the hall outside their rooms earlier, lips hot against his neck as he slurred out a proposal, he had accepted it without question, heart stuttering eagerly in his chest.   
  
The vocalist drops to the center of the bed, legs parted accommodatingly, and Hisashi eases between them, mouthing up his thigh. "But you still wanna," he replies between kisses and sharp bites, sharp gaze softened somewhat by liquor as he awaits the other man's response. "Right?"  
  
"Right," Atsushi exhales, reaching down to sift shaky fingers through Hisashi's brassy bleached hair. He can feel fingers splay at his torso then, easing him back against the mattress before gliding down to his hips. " _Ah_ ," he gasps as Hisashi's lips work over his hardening cock, hips jerking forward of their own accord. The guitarist's attentions are brief, however, because soon enough his head dips lower, lifting his hips off the bed in order to turn his attentions elsewhere.   
  
He starts with his mouth, breath warm against Atsushi's skin as he starts to work him open with his tongue, and it's just enough of a shock to make the singer groan, legs spreading wider as fingers tense in blond hair. Hisashi draws away to retrieve lubricant reluctantly, but the way Atsushi rolls onto his stomach and rocks back into his fingers more than makes up for the loss, and soon enough he's all but begging the other man to fuck him, grasping at his own hair now instead of Hisashi's.   
  
Atsushi shifts onto his side as Hisashi urges against him with fingers digging into his hip, reaching back to cup Hisashi's jaw and draw him in for a clumsy kiss, and when Hisashi finally rocks his hips forward his eyes roll back before squeezing shut entirely, moan caught hoarsely in his throat.   
  
Hisashi's hand is roaming across his hip, dragging up his stomach before moving back down between his legs, when and Atsushi comes it's with Hisashi's fingers around his cock and his teeth marking his nape, trembling right down to his fingertips as the other man's movements slow, then stop entirely.   
  
"Fuck," Atsushi breathes, soft and throaty as he picks himself up onto his knees and turns to look down at Hisashi, chest heaving and still hard as he stares back up at him. It's an inviting sight, and he straddles the other man easily, positioning himself and sinking down in fluid movements that leave Hisashi hissing out his name. Atsushi practically purrs then, reaching for Hisashi's left hand and bringing it slowly to his lips. He sucks the traces of his release from Hisashi's fingers and rocks his hips down until the other man follows him over the edge, and smiles at the sound of his name on his lips.   
  
The next day Hisashi finds himself squinting through his hangover at Atsushi, whose neck is bare and darkened by the marks he'd left there the night before. Atsushi meets his gaze and quirks his lips upwards, but the guitarist is already shuffling away with his head bowed, muttering something about  _too early_  and  _headache_ and  _dying_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recording in London.

They're on an endless flight to London and Hisashi is asleep against Atsushi's shoulder, finally out after hours of restless fidgeting and complementary alcohol. As the trip progresses he wakes rarely, to eat or use the restroom or work briefly on music, but he always ends ends up with his head pressed to Atsushi's arm, and Atsushi, quietly working his way through paperbacks, never moves him. He only rouses the guitarist after the worst of the turbulence has ended and they're about to touch down in Heathrow, and when Hisashi opens his eyes and looks momentarily abashed the singer shrugs, pointing out the window to his other side.   
  
"We're here," he says, and the other man heaves a sigh of relief, cramming his notebook back into his carry-on and reaching for a bottle of water.  
  
There isn't much time for the band to adjust to the difference in time zones before they're ushered into the recording studio, but Atsushi's schedule offers more freedom to wander the streets of Kilburn, and so he does; dipping into shops and bringing back greasy takeaway for his band mates with a bemused expression. "It's all fish and chips or Caribbean food," he shrugs as they pick their way through soggy french fries, "and I don't really know what Caribbean food entails, so..."   
  
Hisashi drags him out the next day during a lull in recording, so they can find out together just what Caribbean food entails, and Atsushi finds himself quietly grateful for the other man's company, happy to follow in whichever direction Hisashi chooses. They eat plantain fritters and jerk chicken without fully understanding the concept of either, at least initially, but it tastes much better than what they're used to even as their mouths burn from the generous spices.   
  
"I wonder if there's anything like this back home," the guitarist murmurs as he wipes his fingers off on a paper napkin, and Atsushi finds himself hoping that there is, and that they'll go there together. It's an embarrassing thought, one he pushes out of the forefront of his mind as he takes out cash for the bill, but it makes his heart twist all the same, to consider it.   
  
"I'll keep an eye out," he assures with an easy smile, and it widens when Hisashi returns it with one of his own, faint but genuine and lingering after they've paid and returned to the cobbled high road. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coyote.

"Well," Atsushi begins after he steps out of the recording booth and rubs a hand across his overtaxed throat, "I have to admit, that was a little bit daunting." He settles into the couch in the control room where Hisashi sits before the mixing console, reaching for a bottle of water and plucking off his reading glasses. "We've never done something entirely acoustic before, if my memory serves. Which, admittedly, it might not,  _but_." He smiles sheepishly up at the guitarist, who turns around in his chair and stands, crossing the short distance between them with an inscrutable expression.   
  
"This is the first, yeah," he replies, settling on the couch beside Atsushi with a certain rigidity to his posture. The vocalist turns to look at him, a faint and tired smile tugging at his lips, and Hisashi inhales slowly before shifting, urging close in order nose against his neck and the soft curling ends of his hair. "Maybe not the last, since it sounded so good with your voice."   
  
Atsushi huffs a laugh, closing his eyes to savor the sensation of Hisashi's warm breath against him, and his lips as they ghost across his skin. "It sounded good long before my paltry addition." A sharp pinch to his bicep makes him twitch, but there's still laughter in the exhale it draws out of him, and he urges sideways, curving towards the guitarist with an entreating expression. "Yes, I  _know_ ," he continues, just this side of petulant as he returns Hisashi's earlier affections with his own, lips idling beneath his ear. "Still, whatever I contributed would be nothing without your groundwork."   
  
Hisashi makes an acquiescent grunt, head tipping back against the cushions and they should  _really_  be saving this for somewhere other than the control room, but he finds his arms encircling Atsushi's neck regardless, drawing him close and holding him fast against him. The singer's voice is still resonating throughout him, rending him with smooth syllables and drawn-out particles that weave dreamlike through his plucked falsetas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I really like this song.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sakurai is a five course meal.

"Manners, Hisashi," Atsushi murmurs with a voice like silk as one elegant hand keeps the other man pinned beneath him, fingers splayed at his sternum. Hisashi doesn't struggle beneath his weight, only nods; voice a rasping hiss as he replies.  
  
" _Please_ ," he says with a groan, impatient, and the vocalist laughs from his perch, one thigh on either side of his hips. He withdraws the hand from Hisashi's chest and makes his way forward on his knees, very nearly resting against the headboard as he positions himself above the guitarist's tipped-back head. At once there are hands gripping at his thighs, nails pressing down pleasantly, and Atsushi reaches down to curl fingers in Hisashi's hair and pull him forward, legs spreading to accommodate him.   
  
Hisashi gasps from the sting of it as he urges upward, all but champing at the bit, and the sound is muffled against the soft inside of Atsushi's thigh. He's so  _eager_  and it makes Atsushi laugh again, but it dissolves into a low moan when Hisashi's tongue, heated and greedy, begins to lap at his entrance with little pretense. His fingers untangle from Hisashi's hair to stroke through it instead, receptive as always to the other man's attentions and generous with his praise. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after a DIQ concert ~~and after Sakurai maybe steps on Imai~~ in '17.

It's a large concert hall, with a labyrinth of corridors and unused rooms winding vast behind the stage. That makes it easy for Hisashi to drag Atsushi, clicking in heels behind him, to a secluded corner of the venue and urge him against the wall. His guitar has only recently been handed off to a dutiful aide, and the strap still hangs limp around his shoulder. Only when Atsushi pushes it to the side with a permissive smile does he realize it's still there, and the guitarist's brow furrows, makeup creasing where the skin begins to wrinkle.  
  
"Yes?" Atsushi murmurs pleasantly, leaning back against the surface and drawing Hisashi in close. The man pressed against him huffs a sigh at that, fingers trailing a path down patterned stockings that make the singer's legs look endless. He's impatient, Atsushi can tell, so he hikes his tunic around his waist and lets him drag his stockings down.   
  
"You were worse than usual tonight, you asshole," Hisashi grumbles as he sinks to his knees, pressing his cheek against the toned swell of Atsushi's thigh and mouthing hungrily at his arousal. The singer's breath hitches but he's laughing all the same, a low rumble that Hisashi can feel all the way down against his tongue.  
  
"Are you really complaining?" Atsushi replies, fingers tangling in the goldenrod waves of his hair and drawing him in close. He doesn't ease up until Hisashi's nose is against him, and the guitarist can only groan in response, throat working around the length of him. One of Hisashi's hands slides up to grip his ass, nails dragging down as he squeezes, and the contact has Atsushi's hips snapping forward, urging him deeper into the other man's mouth. It makes him gag, saliva dripping from one stretched corner of his mouth, but it's what Hisashi'd intended and he doesn't let up, doesn't pull away for a single breath as his vision starts to blur.   
  
He can still feel the press of Atsushi's boot-heel against his cock and he palms himself roughly in a pale imitation of it, and although he's away from the harsh light of the stage his blood runs hot, blistering beneath his skin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aching in the aftermath of their latest tour.

It used to be that they would drink wine and follow it with bourbon until dawn and even after, drawing the curtains tight to block out the sunlight before stumbling into bed—clumsy in their ardor and unable to remember their affections come morning, sleep-tousled and dry-mouthed and tacky with dried sweat. 

They still drink their juniors under the table but it's a little less frequent now, and sometimes they occupy their evenings drinking herbal tea instead, ginseng or peppermint to soothe sore throats and tense muscles. Atsushi passes Hisashi a mug with a faint smile, and settles down against the bed before the other man follows, resting his head against Atsushi's broad chest. 

"I feel like I've been run over with a snow plow," Hisashi winces, taking a careful sip of tea before setting his cup on the end table.  
"Rolling around on your back several nights in a row will do that to you," Atsushi murmurs, as if his own thighs aren't aching from the strain he's been putting on them, and Hisashi just huffs an irritable sigh, curving against his side. 

"I'm not just going to stop," he mutters, and that makes Atsushi laugh, low and musical against Hisashi's ear. 

"Of course you aren't," he says, pressing a kiss to the closest patch of skin he can reach, "neither of us are. Which is why I've scheduled an appointment at the chiropractor's for you. Tomorrow, in fact." 

"What time," is the first question Hisashi asks, taking the mug again and downing the rest of its cooling contents.

"Two-thirty, of course," Atsushi replies, reaching up to brush Hisashi's hair out of the way before urging his lips to the nape of his neck. "I'm not a monster," he adds, and Hisashi huffs a laugh against the ceramic and turns to kiss him in full. His neck twinges then, but it's worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ooc as hell but I don't care.


End file.
